


Army Brat

by oursinsdefineus



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF!John, John-centric, M/M, Teen!lock AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oursinsdefineus/pseuds/oursinsdefineus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John moved around a lot because of his father's work in the army, and he never made any long-lasting relationships because of it. When both his parents died, he thought he would finally settle down and rebuild his life but things are never that easy. Like every family, his family had secrets too. For as long as John could remember, he was prone to headaches, but the longer he stays at St. Bart's, the worse his headaches become and the more he remembers of a past he feels should have stayed forgotten. It doesn't help that his teenage libido is craving for Sherlock Holmes, his weird classmate with a penchant for being an ass, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, readers! Welcome to my first attempt at Johnlock. I've actually written about 3/4 of this whole story so I may be posting around 4 or 5 chapters in total and a chapter every three days or so (at least the ones I've finished writing.) :)
> 
> Warning: I don't have a beta or a brit-picker so all mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment below for your thoughts and suggestions.

John was used to the stares. Being the new kid in high school at least four times every year since he was ten subjected him to loner status mentality. He was naturally a very quiet guy, as opposed to the boisterous personality of both his parents. At least, that was when they were still alive. They moved to London from Northumberland during the summer when his dad was shipped off to God-knows-what country doing God-knows-what. His father had never been the one to talk about his work except that he was a soldier and that he worked for the British Government. He was gone for months at a time and was frequently relocated each year. It was just a few months ago that he was stationed back in England from Japan, and exactly two months ago that they moved to the bustling city of London where his father and mother were both killed in a tragic accident right on the eve of John’s 18th birthday. It was a drunk driver, the detective had told him. Lestrade was the detective who handled the case. John was silent when he was brought to the precinct, collected his parents’ belongings and walked away.

 

And so John disappeared. He took a job for the rest of the summer and rented out a flat. He figured he would make ends meet until he knew what he was going to do with his life when a thick creamy white envelope was dropped into the rusty mail slot of his door.

 

_John looked up from the blog entry he was writing at the behest of his therapist which would supposedly “help him with acclimatizing to the death of both his parents”. John thought she full of bullshit but kept his less than decent thoughts to himself and decided to give the whole blogging thing a whack. He flicked on the desk lamp and picked up the letter. It was heavy, and looked out of place in the small, dank apartment he was currently occupying. John narrowed his eyes at the letter’s blood red wax seal and the cursive writing on the front that addressed its contents to him. There was a masthead on the upper right hand corner of the envelope that looked awfully familiar to teenager._

_A few minutes of silence and John let out a breath as rolled his eyes. St. Bart’s Prep. Where both his parents had gone to school. His dad had a habit of keeping things hidden until the very last moment. John let a feeling of nostalgia wash through him as his mind sped through memories of his parents showing him photo album after photo album of the time they met and spent together in prep school._

_John smiled and ripped open the envelope. Several sheets of neatly typed paper fell out along with an engraved Gold pin. He picked up the letter and read aloud._

_“Dear Mr. John Watson, we are pleased to inform you that you have been awarded special entry to the graduating class of 2013 of St. Bart’s Preparatory School. It has come to our attention that your parents had recently passed and we have accepted you based on their last wishes and your previous school transcripts…”_

_John pretty much zoned off after that and quickly read through the rest of the instructions. He dropped the letter on the desk and looked at a half-empty bottle of pain medication on his table. His headaches had been getting worse and worse the past week._

_“At least there’ll be a nurse there.”_

It was raining hard and John was without an umbrella, though his thick overcoat and hooded sweatshirt seemed to do the job. He was lugging a large trolley behind him towards a rather ominous-looking black-brick building with numerous windows, all of which were closed off against the strong downpour. There were stares from everywhere and John could feel the prickling of the hair on his nape as he walked towards the shade of the building’s overhang.

 

“Blasted rain.” John shook his hair out and adjusted the strap of his backpack. Rusted gold letters were on a plaque above the double wooden door.

 

_Reichenbach Hall_.

 

John rolled his eyes at the German. Welcome home, John.

 

\--

 

_It’s raining again._

 

John’s attention was brought back to reality and he found Molly looking at him expectantly. “Oh, I apologize. What did you say?”

 

Molly was jumpy sophomore who had been tasked to show him around the campus grounds for the better part of the morning before first period at 8. The campus was spacious and secluded, with its own pool and track field, four main buildings, and three dormitories. St. Bart’s Prep was surrounded by red brick walls and two miles of forest all around. Security was pretty high end, with camera surveillance and an impressive security detail. If John didn’t know any better, he would’ve guessed that the place was designed to keep the students in, instead of outsiders out.

 

Molly smiled and her eyes crinkled at the corners. “I was asking if you were a day student or a dormer.”

 

“Dormer,” John looked inside his empty locker and dumped most of his books in. “I’m staying at Reichenbach Hall.”

 

Molly looked interested. “Oh? Do your parents work out of town?”

 

John took out a calculus book and paused. “They’re dead. I’m pretty much an orphan.”

 

Molly turned pink and nearly dropped her books. “Oh… Um… I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

 

“It’s no problem.” John took a look at the clock. The first warning bell was due in about thirty seconds. “You better going or you’ll be late for class. I still have to drop by the headmaster’s office before second period.”

 

“Okay.” Molly flashed him another smile but he could tell she was embarrassed. “I’ll see around, yeah?”

 

John shut his locker. He hated it when people breached the topic about his parents. It wasn’t because he was sad or anything of the sort. He just hated it when he would answer and they would get embarrassed for asking in the first place. John watched Molly walk away and a flitting thought passed through his subconscious.

 

_I wonder how Harry is doing…_

 

He felt someone’s eyes on him and he looked around. He spotted the red blazer of the school turning a corner and a mop of ebony curls. His footsteps were silent against the cold marble floor. John blinked and turned the other way, heading for the head office.

 

_Odd._

 

 --

 

“Have you settled in Mr. Watson?”

 

John stopped looking at the many crystal ornaments that lined the shelves of the headmaster’s office and cleared his throat. “Yes I have, Headmaster.”

 

The headmaster smiled, his eyes twinkling. “That’s good to hear. Did you know that the room you’re staying in was once your father’s?”

 

John was silent. He felt nothing about the room. A room was just a room. It was stupid to attach sentiment to an inanimate thing.

 

The headmaster took his silence for a no and continued, “Well anyway, it was. I hope you’ll have a good year here at St. Bart’s Prep. I know it’s quite sudden, since you’re graduating next fall as well, but it’s what your parents would have wanted.”

 

“I understand, Headmaster,” John replied monotonously before adding, “Thank you for this opportunity.”

 

The headmaster seemed to perk up at that and smiled once more. “Well, that’s all. Please don’t hesitate to approach me or any of your professors if you have any trouble. I doubt you will. You’re dismissed. A classmate from your next class will be waiting outside.”

 

John nodded and walked as fast as he could out of the gloomy looking office. The Headmaster’s smile was not warm or inviting, in fact it was chilling to the bone. Something John hadn’t felt since… John stopped in front of his dorm and let his thoughts continue, well, since he saw his parent’s bodies in the morgue, their faces almost unrecognizable because of the impact of the car into a solid rock wall. A shudder ran through John just thinking about it.

 

“Cold?”

 

John looked to his left and saw a lanky boy leaning against the wall holding a Rubik’s cube. “What?”

 

“You shuddered. There’s no draft so I wondered if you were feeling cold. If so, then you should go to the nurse.”

 

John was silent for a minute as the boy continued to stare at him. “Oh. Um. No. Not cold. Just an unpleasant memory.”

 

The boy’s face was devoid of an emotion. “I see.”

 

John cleared his throat and began to turn away.

 

“I’m supposed to take you to your next class.”

 

John coughed again. “Oh right. Yeah. Sorry.”

 

The boy pushed himself of the wall and began rapidly turning the sides of the multicolored cube. “You don’t seem like your sick yet you keep clearing your throat.”

 

John resisted an urge to roll his eyes. _Yeah, well that’s called being embarrassed_. “I’m fine. Really.”

 

The boy did not reply and started walking down the hall. John caught up to the boy’s side. “I’m John Watson.”

 

“I know.” The boy glanced at him and held out his hand for a shake. “Sherlock Holmes.”

 

John shook his hand. “Nice to meet you Sherlock.”

 

“…likewise.” Sherlock stopped in front of a wooden door. “You’re staying at Reichenbach Hall, are you not?”

 

John looked at him. “Yes. How did you know?”

 

Sherlock stared back. “Your shoes are muddy. It was raining this morning but you aren’t wet yet your shoes are dirty. Reichenbach Hall is the only place here where you need to go through soil to get to and from the main building. You probably waited for the rain to stop before heading over here. Plus your trousers are a bit ripped, probably from the rose bushes by the path, since the tears look a bit new, judging by your pink skin.”

 

John scratched the area where a small slip of his thigh was showing. He thought nobody would notice so he didn’t go back to change. “Oh, wow. Okay. Yeah. Reichenbach Hall.”

 

Sherlock pushed the door open and went inside without a look back.

 

_Brilliant._

 

\--

 

A woman with curly black hair in a bun stood in front of the class. “Good morning everyone.”

 

The students scrambled for their seats and intoned, “Good morning, professor.”

 

John walked over and handed her a small pink slip which she didn’t even so much as glance at before spearing it through a small metal rod on her desk.

 

“We have a new student with us today. He’ll be joining your class for the rest of the year and will be graduating with you.” The woman nodded over to where John was standing. “Mr. Watson, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

 

John took his hands out of his pockets and looked out at the bored expressions of his classmates faces. “Um, hi. I’m John Watson… I just moved here from Northumberland a couple of months ago.”

 

The professor looked at him expectantly. “Any hobbies? Interests?”

 

John shrugged, “Not anything interesting.”

 

She sighed. “Another silent one, eh? Well, I’m Professor Donovan, and welcome to Advanced Physics. You can take a seat in the back, next to the window.”

 

John shifted his bag to his other arm and nodded. The seat Professor Donovan instructed him to stay in was next to a short shelf lined with hardbound textbooks and small-scale projects from previous years. The room itself was spacious, twenty-five single desks, all occupied by attentive-looking teenagers. Well, except one.

 

The person who brought him here, Sherlock Holmes, was looking particularly bored out of his mind. The Rubik’s cube was nowhere in sight and a small wiry model of a molecule was on top of his desk. He was rapidly changing its shape every 5 seconds and paying absolutely no attention to Professor Donovan.

 

The professor turned around and put a hand on her hip. “Holmes, not again. Won’t you put that thing away?”

 

Sherlock paused his work. “Why?”

 

Professor Donovan’s lips were pursed. “Because, even if you have made this class very aware just how knowledgeable you are about everything, you are disturbing your classmates.”

 

Sherlock feigned innocence and looked around. “I don’t see anyone being disrupted, _professor_.”

 

Professor Donovan looked ready to throw something at the bushy-haired teenager. “If you don’t keep that thing I will confiscate it… just like the previous fourteen models you have brought to this class.”

 

John held back a snigger as a semi-pout started to appear on Sherlock’s face. _What a strange fellow._

 

The pout disappeared as Sherlock, who was seated one seat to his left, raised an eyebrow at him. John stared back and kept a straight face, as if to say, ‘What?’. John blinked. Sherlock put the model away and clasped both his hands on top of the table.

 

“Happy, professor?”

 

Professor Donovan narrowed her eyes. “Quite. Now stay like that until I finish the lesson.”

 

John shook his head and smiled as Professor Donovan continued droning on about the day’s lesson. The rain had started to let up but the clouds stayed, bathing the grounds in a fluorescent light from the midday sun. John’s mind had started to drift off and his hand started sketching lazily in the drawing pad he had opened on his desk.

 

_John was about seven years old. It was one of his haziest memories of his parents, or rather, his earliest memory ever. John knew it was odd that he didn’t remember anything before that time, but the more he tried to recall, the worse his headaches would become. It had been raining all morning but turned into a light drizzle by early afternoon. His mum wouldn’t let him out of the house, being the sickly child that he was. Since he was the never one to throw tantrums, John had silent acquiesced and stayed in his room._

“Broom broom. _” Little John said quietly, running the toy car over the wooden floor. His mummy would scold him again for putting scratches on the recently polished floor._

_Suddenly there was a loud bang and the sound of wood splintering. John could hear his mom shouting over the loud noise. John looked out the small window by his bed and saw big shadows passing by, accompanied by sound of something cutting through the air._

_Little John looked up from his car and out the door._ “Mummy? _”_

_The living room was empty. The house was silent. The big shadows were gone. John was suddenly picked up and his red toy car dropped to the floor, making a loud clattering sound. It was all very fast. A flash of black cloth. Then everything was dark._

“Mr. Watson! Mr. Watson!”

 

John’s head dropped from his hand and his right hand stopped sketching. He felt out of it, and his face was covered with a sheen of sweat. He looked up.

 

Professor Donovan made a sound of exasperation. “I’ve been calling your name for the past minute.”

 

A pink blush stained John’s cheeks. “Sorry, Ma’am.”

 

“As I was saying, if you were listening at all to the lesson, what was one of Heisenberg’s major contributions to the field of physics?”

 

“Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle, wherein the exact location of the atom can never be completely determined, only the quantum level where it resides,” John recited without skipping a beat.

 

John refrained from rolling his eyes. Moving around so much and having little to no friends at all tended to give him a lot of time for advanced reading. More often than not John had to move schools in the middle of the year and it just didn’t do that he had no idea where his class was in the syllabus, so he preferred to study everything when he could. Being smarter or well read than everybody else also tended to keep other students away from him.

 

Professor Donovan was a bit taken a back. She was sure that John didn’t listen to a single word she’s been saying for the past hour. “…that’s correct…” Professor Donovan’s face grew worried at his pallor. “Mr. Watson, is everything alright?”

 

John nodded, “…yes, Ma’am.”

 

Professor Donovan gave him a look over. “You seem a bit pale. Try to get some rest later. I don’t want you nodding off in my class again. Having Mr. Holmes here is bad enough.”

 

John nodded and the professor turned back to the chalkboard to finish the lesson. As John began to zone her out once more, he looked down at his drawing pad. It was the sketch of a seal of sorts. Three interlocking circles with a small bird in the middle, speared by a single arrow.

 

There was something eerily familiar about the symbol that John couldn’t place.

 

\--

 

Sherlock watched as his new classmate rapidly began sketching with a pencil over a blank sheet of drawing paper. His wasn’t even looking down while he drew, and his eyes were clouded over, as if remembering something he had forgotten. His right hand began to tremble as he drew and little beads of sweat started appearing above his brow.

 

Sherlock felt an urge to snap John out of his stupor but Professor Donovan beat him to it. He watched John become flustered for one second before replying with a monotonous voice.

 

“…Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle, wherein the exact location of the atom can never be completely determined, only the quantum level where it resides…”

 

Sherlock smirked at John’s answer. Seems like he wasn’t like the rest of his schoolmates who were entirely too boring and predictable. Sherlock spied a look at his classmates drawing.

 

His eyes widened in confusion. _Why would he sketch_ that _?_

 


	2. Teenage Love Affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teenage romance is in the air. Sherlock plots to get into John's pants, John meets two interesting new people (one of which may be plotting to get in his pants as well), and his drawing pad mysteriously disappears and reappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story's going to go a bit fast from here, erm, I couldn't help myself with the teen!lock romance. Had to be done. There will be promise of pr0n in the following chapters, but not the happy kind. I'm trying to see if I can fit this whole thing into 5 long chapters (3 remaining) or bump it up to 6 with a short epilogue. We'll see. Still typing up the ending (will hopefully finish tomorrow or the day after), I'm not even at the juiciest bit yet. Tata!

 

After Professor Donovan’s class finished, John quickly crumpled up the sketch and stuffed it into his bag. Seeing that symbol in somewhere other than his memory was very unsettling. John found it odd that he would suddenly remember that memory for no apparent reason, seeing as he hadn’t tried to remember that particular event, well, ever. It was very strange indeed.

 

_Maybe my therapist is right. I need to write more or get out more._

John walked down the hall to his next class, when he collided into the metal door of an open locker. “Fuck.”

 

John felt a sharp pain on his forehead. “Oh bloody hell.” He gingerly touched the area and his fingers came away with blood. He blinked as a stray droplet of blood ran into his eye. John quickly fished around his pocket for a handkerchief but came up empty-handed.

 

_Great. Just great._

“Here.”

 

John looked up and saw a dark blue handkerchief being proffered to him. The corner of the handkerchief was embroidered with a cursive SH. It was his rather attractive-looking classmate, Sherlock Holmes. John knitted his eyebrows together. Where had _that_ come from? Since when did John find smart, teenage boys attractive?

 

 _Well_ , if you were being pushy, there was that one time during summer camp, though his partner had been more than willing at first, he had eventually vehemently denied anything happening when they were caught. John was… upset, to say the least.

 

“John? Is it really your prerogative to bleed out continuously all over the floor? Because if it is then I’d rather be offering my handkerchief to some other poor soul who has sustained a head wound.”

 

John blushed. “Oh right. Sorry.” He took the handkerchief and dabbed his forehead with it. “Thank you.”

 

John winced as the cloth touched the cut. “I apologize for the use of your handkerchief. I’ll properly wash it before returning it.”

 

“No need. Keep it.” Sherlock replied as he gave him a once over. “Are you alright? You were distracted enough to walk into the rather large, open door of that locker.”

 

“I was, erm—“

 

“—thinking?” Sherlock finished. “You seem to do that often.”

 

“Yes, it seems that I do.” John searched Sherlock’s face for any sort of emotion but was disappointed. He could’ve sworn that the other teenager voiced some form of concern with his last statement. “Um, hey, I’m sure you happen to know where the infirmary is, yes?”

 

“Duh.” Sherlock said, and quickly grabbed his hand. “This way. Your head wound hasn’t stopped bleeding.”

 

John’s cheeks were dusted with pink as Sherlock’s warm hand grasped his own, and tugged him down the hallway into the next. Most boys would’ve pushed Sherlock away and made a snide comment but… it felt nice, having someone hold his hand. His mother stopped doing it; John remembered when he was little and his mom would constantly worry over him but after that _incident_ , every time John would come near her, she would get this scared look on her face, like she was afraid touching him would break him.

 

His father was a little bit better. He actually made an effort to get to know his son, playing ball, watching crap telly, and going to school fairs. However, his reaction to skinship with his son was the same as his wife. Fear. John remembered a time when he had left his mobile at home and he needed to stay over at a friend’s house for a school project. His mother was inconsolable, and in the end he was brought home by a police car. John never understood why they acted that way. Like they were always scared he was going to die or get kidnapped or something.

 

Sherlock stopped in front of the nurse’s office and gave three resounding raps on the glass door.

 

“Mrs. Hudson?”

 

“Come in, dear!”

 

Sherlock tugged him inside and John saw an elderly woman, maybe early sixties, in a crisp, white nurse’s uniform. She had a warm smile on her face as she greeted the two boys. “What have you boys been up to?”

 

“John had a little accident. I happened to be a witness.”

 

John smiled sheepishly and peeled off the handkerchief that was stuck to his forehead. “I ran into an open-locker.” His wound had stopped bleeding.

 

Mr. Hudson sighed and gestured towards an empty gurney. “Have seat, Mr. Watson, and let me take a look.”

 

Sherlock let go of his hand and John felt strangely sad. His hand felt cold again. “Ow!”

 

There was stinging sensation on his forehead as Mrs. Hudson dabbed a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic onto the one-inch cut. “No need for stitches, dear. Just a superficial wound.” She reached over towards the metal cart and pulled out a square-shaped bandage.

 

Then the door to the infirmary opened and banged into the wall. “Mrs. Hudson!”

 

“Oh dear. What’s happened now?”

 

A group of teenage boys wearing the school’s rugby jersey’s came rushing inside. “Mrs. Hudson, you’ve got to come quick! Sebastian took a nasty fall in the field and his shoulder looks all funny.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. Mrs. Hudson’s mouth set into a grim line and she turned to Sherlock and handed him the bandage. “Do you mind, dear?”

 

Sherlock gave her a small smile. “No problem, Mrs. Hudson.”

 

Mrs. Hundson rummaged around in the medicine cabinet for some supplies and ran out with the group of teenage boys, well, as quickly as she could. John watched the door close and heard the paper wrapping of the bandage being opened. He turned his head forward and was startled at how close Sherlock’s face was to his own. His eyes were swirling with an unknown emotion. John only had to lean forward an inch and his lips would be touching—

 

“Ouch.” John muttered, rubbing his forehead.

 

Sherlock gave the bandage on his forehead a tap. “I don’t suppose you’ll be running into anymore lockers soon.”

 

John let out a breath as Sherlock moved away. “Yeah. So. What now?”

 

Sherlock looked at the clock on Mrs. Hudson’s desk. “We missed second period Calculus. Technically it’s free period.”

 

John moved off the metal gurney and straightened out his jacket. “What do people do around here for free period? I assume nobody actually spends it studying even if your classmates seem like the teacher’s-pet type.”

 

Sherlock smiled and shook his head. John surely was a very interesting fellow. “No, they do not. Usually the students go back to their dormitories or hang out in the lunch room.”

 

“And how about you? What do you do?” John was nervous, being alone in a room with Sherlock. He felt like he was sixteen and in summer camp all over again.

 

Sherlock took his place on the gurney. “I usually go back to my room. Or head for the laboratories. I have a special one for my… experiments beneath the dormitory.”

 

John knitted his eyebrows together. “Experiments?”

 

Sherlock shrugged. “Growing genetically engineered plants, mixing solutions with volatile chemicals… the usual.”

 

 _The usual?_ John though incredulously. “That’s amazing.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes snapped towards him. John was mortified. _Oh dear god John, did you just say that out loud?_ John’s cheeks were getting redder by the minute.

 

“Nobody has ever said that about me before.”

 

John was taken aback. “Seriously? Nobody has complimented you on your creepy brilliance before?”

 

Sherlock smirked at him. “So now I’m brilliant?”

 

“In a creepy sort of way, yes. What do people normally respond to your quirky habits?”

 

“Piss off.”

 

John and Sherlock looked at each other and laughed.

 

\-- 

 

It two months into the term and John was sitting in the study hall going over his notes for his and Sherlock’s Physics project, due in three weeks. Sherlock was going on and on about creating fuel to power the miniature rocket he had built for last term’s Physics project. John smiled as he remembered how positively manic Sherlock sounded during lunch.

 

John felt his mobile buzz in his pocket and he indiscreetly took it out underneath the table.

 

_Meet up in your room? SH_

John quickly typed a reply.

 

_Can’t. Mike’s borrowing the room for a study session with Molly._

His phone buzzed again.

 

_My room, 8 o’clock. SH_

 

John tucked the mobile back in his pocket and shoved all his books into his bag before leaving. John didn’t hear the small clack as his drawing pad slipped from his bag to the floor and he most definitely didn’t notice someone picking it up.

 

\--

 

John raised a hand and knocked on the heavy oak door leading into Sherlock’s room. He was on the highest floor on Baskerville Hall, the dormitory directly adjacent to Reichenbach. His room appeared bigger than the other rooms in the building, seeing as there were only three doors on the entire floor.

 

“Sherlock?”

 

The door opened and Sherlock popped his head out and peered into both sides of the hallway. “Good evening, John.”

 

John looked around in confusion. “Were you waiting for someone else?” _Like a boyfriend perhaps?_

Sherlock look at him curiously. “Well, yes. My brother. He often comes to visit me though I have told him multiple times to stop bothering me.”

 

Sherlock held the door open and John nearly tripped over something on his way inside. “Bloody hell, Sherlock. Do you keep a dog in here or something?”

 

“Of course not. Pets aren’t allowed.” Sherlock knitted his eyebrows together. “What made you ask that?”

 

John sighed and tossed his bag onto Sherlock’s bed. “Your room is a bloody mess. It’s like you set a dog loose in here.”

 

Sherlock’s face was impassive as picked up a pile of papers from a nearby arm chair and speared them through an upright wooden figure of a jackknife. “I supposed I could straighten up while we do our project.”

 

John snorted and sat on the cleared armchair. “Well at least there’s two of us. Can’t imagine cleaning this place alone.”

 

Sherlock flashed him a small smile and started clearing the floor from the numerous Erlenmeyer flasks and dumping them out the window. John could smell the acrid odor of chemicals burning the branches outside Sherlock’s window.

 

John placed another pile of papers on top of Sherlock’s study desk and covered his nose with his hand. “Sherlock. Are you sure it’s safe to be throwing that out of a window?”

 

Sherlock picks up another flask and dumps it out. “Concentrated herbicide, amplified about 35 times. Technically not a human hazard, with the composition I made it out of.”

 

John was still worried. What if Sherlock hit someone with that and caused severe burns or something? He was still a teenager, despite his brilliance, and something could go terribly wrong with his experiments. John started to stalk over to where Sherlock was standing. “Sherlock, let’s dump those in the loo or by the labs later. You might hit – fuck!” John tripped unceremoniously over a pile of encyclopedias.

 

And down John went. Sherlock let go of the flask which crashed into the rocks outside and tried to stop John from hitting the rest of the flasks. “John, watch out—”

 

“Oof.”

 

“Well that was successful.”

 

“And pray tell what was successful about this?”

 

John was lying on top of Sherlock, their limbs a tangled mess as Sherlock had pulled John away from the three remaining flasks filled with dangerous looking azure fluid on the floor.

 

“My flasks are still in one piece. Well, except for one.”

 

John rolled his eyes and tried not to blush at his and Sherlock’s very compromising position. _Oh this is just brilliant._ John pulled himself up to his elbows and blew the several strands of hair away from his, and effectively Sherlock’s, forehead. “How wonderful. I thought the success was me not injuring myself by falling into a pile of broken glass.”

 

John’s words sent a breath of warm air over Sherlock’s lips. “Well, that too. Those flasks were quite difficult to sneak up here.”

 

John stared at Sherlock and thought, _You know, Sherlock’s really pretty for a guy. Especially with all that hair… those lips…_

Sherlock’s cool voice brought him out of his reverie. “Thinking again, John?” Sherlock asked quietly, staring back up at him.

 

John quickly scrambled off the taller teen and rubbed his face with both hands. “Err, yes, sorry. Wrong time and place for that I suppose.”

 

Sherlock sat up and wet his lips. John’s eyes followed the movement and he felt heat starting to circulate around his abdomen. John looked away. _No. Sherlock is your friend. Your first in a long time, and you’re probably his as well. It wouldn’t do –_

“You know, your eyes always glaze over whenever you look at me.”

 

John snapped his head up. “What?” _He can’t possibly know._

“Like it did with Mary.” Sherlock clarified. “But you stopped doing that with her. After about two weeks, I think. Did she cease to interest you?”

 

“I – I don’t understand.” John stuttered out.

 

Sherlock stood up and offered John his hand. He looked unfazed, if a little bit flustered. “Your eyes. They turn blank whenever you’re thinking. They did that with Mary at first, well, until a few days before you stopped going to her room to snog.”

 

John’s cheeks were bursting with red as he took Sherlock’s hand and dusted himself off. “I never thought you would find teenage relationships interesting.” _God, isn’t this embarrassing?_

“Oh I don’t,” Sherlock tugged John’s hand and ran a warm hand over his cheek. “I find _you_ interesting.”

 

John let out a small ‘Oh,’ before Sherlock leaned forward and captured his lips. John’s eyes fluttered close and his hands quickly found Sherlock’s chest and waist. John let out an embarrassing moan as Sherlock sucked on his lower lip and proceeded to pepper the sensitive spot below his ear with small nips and kisses.

 

“Ugh—not there—”

 

John could practically feel Sherlock smirk against his neck. “I think the bed would be a more appropriate place for this.”

 

John let out a whine as Sherlock pulled away and dragged him over to his wondrously clean bed. It was a stark change from the rest of his room. Sherlock was lying half on John and half on the bed as he reclaimed the sandy-haired boys lips. John nipped Sherlock’s lips and ran his tongue over them. “You know, I’m amazed – ughmm – at how clean your bed is.” John sucked on Sherlock’s neck.

 

“Well, I do sleep here. It’s imperative to keep it clean.”

 

John looked up with a cheeky smile. “Then why is the rest of your room so messy?”

 

Sherlock moved over to straddle John’s hips. He raised an eyebrow. “Do you really have to ask?”

 

John’s mouth dropped open in realization. “You sly bastard. You planned this!” _Not that I’m complaining…_

 

Sherlock grinned and planted a soft, sweet kiss on John’s open mouth. John’s hands found their way into Sherlock’s bushy curls and tugged. The brunette moaned into his mouth as John ran his tongue over the other teenager’s. Sherlock pulled away with a smirk. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

 

“I’m not saying that I didn’t.”

 

“I deduce that we won’t be getting any work done tonight.”

 

John smiled and pulled Sherlock back down for a kiss. “Don’t care. More time for that tomorrow.”

 

\--

 

A drop of perspiration trickled down the side of John’s face as he frantically searched his locker for his missing drawing pad. It had been a full week before he had noticed its absence from his bag since he and Sherlock were always very busy at night doing their project… among other extracurricular activities.

 

“Damnit!” John mumbled, slamming the door of his locker shut. He ran both hands through his hair in frustration.

 

John had picked up the habit of drawing after his parents had died, though he already had a keen interest in it when he was still a child. He didn’t like telling people about his hobby because it would again bring up the unwanted topic of his parent’s death. Besides, he didn’t like people asking what he drew, especially his therapist. So when she had asked him if he had any hobbies that could be used as positive outlets for emotional expression, he had merely shrugged and said no.

 

“Problem?”

 

John looked up and saw the smiling face of one of his classmates. Jim from Home Economics, if he remembers correctly. He was short, with a slim build and perpetual smile on his face. John remembered that Jim had wanted to be partnered with Sherlock for the cooking demonstration but Sherlock had brushed him off and partnered with John instead. John never saw the scowl that Jim had thrown his way. Jim had been irate. But that was over three weeks ago. Jim was no longer annoyed by John’s presence in Sherlock’s life, no.

 

He was interested.

 

“You look like you just ran a marathon.” Jim stated, looking at John’s disheveled appearance.

 

John wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and mumbled, “Might as well have. Been running back and forth between Reichenbach Hall and here for the past hour.”

 

Jim leaned on the locker.  “Missing something, I presume.”

 

“Drawing pad.” John replied with a sigh at the end. “It’s been missing all week and I can’t find it.”

 

Jim looked interested. “Does the drawing pad have… sentimental value?”

 

John thought for a moment. “Of a sort, yes. I remember seeing it at the study hall last but Mr. Anderson hasn’t seen it. Snapped at me quite a bit for asking in the first place. Dick.” John looked thoughtful. “After I was all nice about not saying anything to his wife when I smelled Professor’s Donovan rancid perfume on his ugly sweater.”

 

Jim genuinely laughed. So this is what made Sherlock interested. John was _very_ interesting indeed. “Those two have been at it for quite a while.”

 

John smiled back and let out another sigh. “I can’t believe I lost it.  This all Sherlock’s fault.”

 

“Sherlock?”

 

John turned pink. “Well, not entirely his fault. Because of all of the ruckus with the project I had completely forgotten about it.”

 

“I know exactly what you mean,” Jim said sympathetically, “Sebastian’s all worked up about winning first prize.”

 

“Sebastian from the rugby team?” John asked, remembering the incident during his first day. “And first prize?”

 

Jim gave a wistful smile. “He has this little rivalry going on with Sherlock. Do you know him?”

 

John shook his head. “Not personally. I just heard about his accident.”

 

Jim eyes darkened at the mention of that. “Yes, those damned players from Cornwall have it coming. Idiots, the lot of them. Who tackles the damn quarterback out of spite?”

 

John was confused. Wasn’t Sebastian playing _rugby_? Of course there would tackling.

 

Jim waved him off. “Oh I know what you’re thinking. It’s rugby. Of course there would be _tackling._ But no. It was _after_ the game and the arse tackled him right into the refreshment’s table.”

 

John was shocked. At two things. First, how somebody had intentionally caused another student harm, especially in a prep school like this. Second, at how Jim eerily reminded of Sherlock. Only, well, no judgement on John’s behalf but, gayer, judging by his well plucked eyebrows, pink streaks through his hair, and deadly aura at the mention of Sebastian’s accident.

 

John was snapped out of his reverie as Jim hand waved over his face. “Sorry. You were saying?”

 

“I bet you think a lot, don’t you, John?”

 

John grinned and rubbed his neck. “Somewhat, yeah.”

 

Jim’s eyes twinkled. Oh he liked John Watson very much. “Well, as for the case of the missing drawing pad, I think you’ll have better luck going to the lost and found. It’s on the other side of the building. Look for Mrs. Anderson.”

 

John groaned.

 

\-- 

 

Fortunately, Jim turned out to be right. A student had found his missing drawing pad and surrendered it to Mrs. Anderson’s office just the other day. Upon arriving at the Lost and Found office, John was horrified to learn that Mr. Anderson was not the only one who was having extra-marital affairs, but Mrs. Anderson was having one as well. John spotted two coffee mug rings on the wooden desk behind the counter, a male scarf hanging on the chair, and the musky scent of aftershave permeating the room. If John could pinpoint it correctly, that particular smell of aftershave and sweat belonged to their one and only gym teacher.

 

“Adult relationships… no better than teenage love affairs.” John mumbled, rubbing his temple. A migraine was barking at his heels and he had conveniently left his pain medication in his dorm room. “Bloody headache.”

 

John walked down the hall lit by the afternoon setting sun and flipped through the pages of his drawing pad. Nothing seemed to be missing. Well, until John realized that his sketch of the weird seal was missing.

 

“I could’ve sworn I drew it.” John flipped through the rest of the sketches and found nothing. There was no paper left behind in the springs either, so it couldn’t have been a petty student. Students tended to be messy when committing crimes.

 

John was still perusing through the pages when he unexpectedly bumped into someone and was sent sprawling to the floor. _Why do I seem to keep falling down in this school?_

“Sorry, mate. Need a hand, there?”

 

John took his hand and felt another set brushing him off aside from his own. “Oh, thanks. I seem to be meeting a lot of people today. Or rather, running into them in your case.”

 

John looked at the person who had bumped into and was greeted with the sight of a tall, muscular boy, with dimples and a rather charming smile. John’s eyes lingered on the arm sling the boy was in. “Sebastian Moran?”

 

The boy laughed. “I apologize, I don’t even know _your_ name.”

 

John grinned sheepishly and offered his hand. “John Watson. I was in the nurse’s office when you had your accident. Your friends made a lot of noise.” _Not to mention a run in with your boyfriend._

 

Sebastian gave his hand a firm shake with his free hand. “I bet they did. You can call me Seb.”

 

John smiled. “So, um, it was nice meeting you. But I better run. Need to meet my partner for the Physics project.”

 

Sebastian nodded, “Yeah. No problem. See you around.” He watched as John walked down the hall, the sunlight reflecting on his blond hair. His eyes lingered on the blue drawing pad.


	3. Trouble in Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John knew that Sherlock was too good of a dream to be true... but that didn't stop it from hurting like somebody stabbed him in the chest. Even his dreams were fucking with his head now. No place is safe; everything hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this chapter very much. Very, very much. More mysteries are afoot! Planning on finishing this in 5 chapters, as planned. :)
> 
> Warning: Sherlock pr0n (and not the happy kind).

“His headaches are getting worse, you know.” Mrs. Hudson said. “He’s filled out five prescriptions for his pain medication for the past four months.”

 

The man behind the chair rested his hands on his clasped fingers. “I see.”

 

Mrs. Hudson made a tutting noise. “Well, aren’t you going to do anything about it?”

 

“I _can’t,_ Mrs. Hudson. He isn’t ready.”

 

Mrs. Hudson put her hands on her hips. “Well you can’t wait any longer. One of these days he’s just going to collapse from the pain and remember it all.”

 

“I know, Mrs. Hudson. Everything will be revealed in time.”

 

There was no use talking to this man. He was like the British Government and Secret Service all rolled into one, with the amount of secrets he’s been keeping. Mrs. Hudson sighed. “I do hope you’re right, Headmaster.”

 

Mycroft Holmes smiled grimly. “The time for truth is near. No rush.”

 

\--

 

Sherlock stuffed the last of the chemical solution into the sub-zero freezer. “Approximately 2.4 days in the freezer until we can proceed.”

 

“Finally!” John said, tearing off his plastic goggles and setting them on the table.

 

John was tired from lack of sleep. Plus, Sherlock had been acting weird for the past few days, which added to his stressful nights. They hadn’t made out for the past two days _at all_ , and Sherlock wouldn’t look at him straight in the eye except when they were working the project. They hadn’t had lunch together in two days either.

 

Sherlock looked at him. There was a flash of concern in his eyes John could’ve sworn he saw. “You haven’t been sleeping well.”

 

John smiled grimly and grabbed his jacket, which was hanging on one of the stools. “Headache. Been tossing and turning all night.”

 

Sherlock stalked over to him determinedly and felt his forehead. “You’re running a slight fever. You should go rest.”

 

“Concerned?” John joked, sitting down.

 

“You are my project partner. Your wellbeing is a part of accomplishing this project by the estimated date.”

 

 _Partner?_ John was hurt by the comment. Why would Sherlock say _that_? Did he do something wrong?

 

John approached Sherlock in confusion. “What do you mean by that? Did I – did I do something wrong?”

 

“Sentiment,” Sherlock drawled, pointedly not looking at John, removing his white lab coat. “I have no time for it. We are partners, and that is that.”

 

John felt an overwhelming feeling of dread settle in his chest. Sherlock can’t possibly mean what he said. _He must be joking_. _He_ has _to be_. John’s fingers clenched around his jacket. He reached forward to touch Sherlock’s hand but he moved away. John suddenly had horrible flashbacks of his mother’s terrified face when attempted to touch her.

 

“…Sherlock?” John said in a small voice. He bit his lip. “Tell me what I did wrong.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes snapped towards him. “Well aren’t I right about us being _partners_? You’re pretty good at deduction yourself so why don’t you deduce why I am – why am – acting this way.”

 

John watched Sherlock’s hand twitch, as if itching for another one of his cigarettes, which John had cleverly hidden underneath the skull in Sherlock’s room. Sherlock only started acting like this no more than two days ago.

 

 _What was different two days ago?_ John thought, a crease appearing on his forehead. _What was different – oh._

John had lunch with Mike and the rest of his friends that day. John thought hard and remembered the exact conversation he and the guys had over a pile of fries. John rubbed his temple as he felt another migraine start to grow behind his eyes.

 

_“So what’s the deal between you and Sherlock Holmes?” Mike asked, dipping a fry in ketchup._

_John sipped on his soda. “What do you mean?”_

_“You’ve been hanging out a lot, we’ve noticed,” Molly offered with a sad smile. “I tried to get Sherlock’s attention before but you know, he didn’t seem interested.”_

_“Maybe John caught his interest,” Mike teased._

_Ethan, Mike’s friend, laughed. “I don’t think Sherlock Holmes understands the concept of relationships. I doubt he’s had any.”_

_Molly giggled and Mike let out a barking laugh. Sarah looked at them disapprovingly. Despite breaking up with John a few weeks ago, the two had promised to remain friends. Just because they didn’t have the spark they thought they did meant that their friendship had to be written off as well._

_“You guys shouldn’t be mean to Sherlock. He’s a pretty okay guy. I got partnered with him last term for the Scholastic Decathlon and he didn’t do anything mean.”_

_John turned to Sarah, “Really?”_

_Sarah smiled. “Yeah. A bit of a smartass but no ill-intention behind whatever offending thing he says.”_

_Ethan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well he’s still an ass that doesn’t know when to shut up. Irene Adler’s the only one who can keep his interest. She has certainly kept mine.” Ethan waggled his eyebrows._

_John looked up in surprise. The name Irene Adler was new to him. Well, in the Sherlock-context of course. Even he knew who Irene Adler was. She was a right goddess; perfect body, perfect face… albeit she was bit… forward at times._

_John looked at Ethan. “Sherlock and Irene? Isn’t Irene… into girls?” Everyone looked at him weirdly._

_“What made you think that?” Mike asked. “That girl? A carpet-muncher? I highly doubt it.”_

_“Oh, well, forget I said anything then.” John noticed that Irene tended to flock to the horde of girls of their batch and well, she seemed more than friends with some of them, if John observed correctly. She also made this bored face whenever a guy would make a pass at her._

_“Speak of the devil,” Ethan mumbled, a fry falling out of his mouth._

_“Gross.” Sarah said, nudging Ethan with her elbow._

_Irene Adler walked into the cafeteria and headed for Sherlock’s table. Her white blouse was opened indecently low, flashing her bra and cleavage. Maybe John was wrong about her. She leaned forward and brushed a stray curl from Sherlock’s forehead. She said something to him, but the lunch room was too noisy for John to hear._

_“Damn that Sherlock,” Ethan said, stuffing his mouth with a handful of fries. He looked up at John. “Aren’t you going to stop your boyfriend?”_

_John blushed. “He isn’t my boyfriend.”_

_“Liar,” Ethan mocked, wagging his finger._

_John had never been with anyone before and while he really did like Sherlock a lot, he and the other teen never really did talk about what they were to each other. A heavy weight settled on John’s chest. He didn’t want to impose on Sherlock with his feelings if Sherlock didn’t feel as much for him._

_The lunch room was silent as Irene Adler smirked and stood up from whatever conversation she was having with Sherlock. John didn’t notice Sherlock heading over to their table._

_“There’s nothing to lie about,” John started. “Sherlock and I are just… partners.”_

_Mike and Sarah looked at him knowingly. Molly looked confused._

_Ethan shrugged and resumed demolishing his burger. “Whatever you say, man.”_

_The group didn’t notice Sherlock walking away from their table, his face blank, and his hands gripping the lunch tray tightly._

John didn’t know where to start.

 

“What?” Sherlock spat, “Cat got your tongue, John?”

 

“Sherlock – you have to know – I didn’t mean –”

 

Sherlock snorted. “You can’t even say it. Face it John, you’re just about as commitment-phobic as I am. I however, do not find that that fact at all bothers me. I’ve always been alone, and I’m happy for it to stay that way.”

 

John’s guilt and self-loathing was replaced with anger. “Let me at least explain first! I didn’t want to – to force feelings on you that you obviously aren’t ready for. I’ve heard the stories, Sherlock. How you don’t really have any friends, that’s you get into a lot of fights with the varsity jocks, your weird relationship with Irene Adler, all of it! I didn’t want to be the lost puppy chasing after someone who didn’t want me!”

 

“That’s rich, considering that I,” Sherlock rolled his eyes and made air-quotes, “came on to you first. Irene is just… a friend. She has a brain crush on me. Plus I don’t really have the equipment she’s into. You’re slower than I gave you credit for, John.”

 

John didn’t even have the energy to retort that he knew about Irene’s sexual preference. His anger at Sherlock was only growing by the second.

 

“You can’t even say it either!” John exclaimed, dropping his jacket on the floor, his bottle of pills making a clacking sound on the linoleum floor. “Say it, then! What am I to you?”

 

“You were right earlier.” Sherlock’s eyes were blank. “I don’t have friends. And I’m not going to start now. Sentiment only makes people stupid.” Sherlock turned around and grabbed his coat.

 

John eyes zeroed in on the small seal by the collar of Sherlock’s shirt. He ran towards him, eyes wide, migraine rating a ten on a scale of one to ten. John shut his eyes as a memory of that seal embedded into a pair of metal doors came rushing by. He nearly fell to his knees from the pain.

 

“John! John!” Sherlock had dropped his scarf and was reaching out towards him.

 

John’s eyes snapped open, pain swirling in them. “Don’t touch me.”

 

Sherlock couldn’t tell if the pain was from his headache or their conversation. Neither could John.

 

John bit his lip and ran out of the laboratory as quickly as he could, grabbing his fallen jacket. Sherlock dropped his hand.

 

 _I’ve made a right fucking mess, haven’t I?_ Sherlock thought. _I’ll talk to him in the morning._

 

Sherlock sighed and picked up his scarf. He shut off all the lights and headed for his room. In the commotion, neither John nor Sherlock noticed the orange bottle that had fallen out of John’s jacket and rolled underneath the tables.

 

\--

 

_John smiled softly at his shirtless bed partner. “Good morning.”_

_“Good morning, John.” Sherlock smiled at him._

_John knew this was a dream. He has had several of them for the past few weeks since Sherlock kissed him. Besides, Sherlock rarely smiled, especially not in the morning. John has had the misfortune of waking Sherlock for breakfast and nearly gotten a black eye. Sherlock throws a mean punch._

_John tucked a stray strand of hair from Sherlock’s forehead. These dreams were nice. They always started with John waking up next to a happy, smiling Sherlock, with the early morning sunlight streaming through the window and their breathing the only sound he could hear._

_Sherlock grasped his hand and gave it a kiss. “I love you.”_

_And that was always John’s favorite part._

_John’s eyes fluttered close as Sherlock kissed his wrist and started giving little kisses to the side of his mouth. John turned his head and pressed his lips gently to Sherlock’s. He reached up to cup Sherlock’s face and thought,_ I must be the happiest person alive. _Sherlock nipped at his bottom lip and swept his tongue over it. John moaned and opened his mouth. The feel of Sherlock’s tongue rubbing against his caused heat to go directly to his cock. John vaguely remembered that both of them had morning breath but he didn’t care. Lazy, morning kisses were the best… since they always ended up doing more._

_Sherlock broke the kiss and pushed John to his back, straddling him. John let out a small laugh. “Eager beaver.”_

_Sherlock gave a small pout. “I resent that. I refuse to be compared to a mammal with large incisors.”_

_John pulled him down and kissed him again. “What’re you going to do about it?”_

_Sherlock flashed him a mischievous smile and ground his hips into the boy beneath him. John’s eyes closed as he groaned out loud. “Bloody cheater.”_

_Sherlock bent down and started peppering kisses down John’s chest. John’s hands settled themselves on Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock smiled and gave tantalizing sucks to the skin on his lower abdomen. His slender fingers caressed John’s inner things before tugging on the waistband of his boxers, freeing John’s half-hard erection. He grasped its base and ran his hand slowly upwards to the leaking tip._

_John bit his lip and mumbled, “More.”_

_Sherlock nuzzled the base of his cock. “As you wish.”_

_He sucked on the head of John’s cock and gave the slit soft prods with his tongue. John’s hips nearly arched off the bed from the sensation but Sherlock pressed him down with one of his hands. He pulled off and looked at John straight in the eye. “Naughty, naughty.”_

_Sherlock held John’s gaze and gave a long lick from the base to the tip of his cock, running his tongue over one of the large veins. John could only grasp the sheets beneath him. Sherlock brought his free hand up to John’s balls and started massaging them._

_“Sherlock, please.” John’s mind was a haze of lust as he stared down at his lover. “Don’t tease.”_

_Sherlock acquiesced to the request and took John deep into his throat, earning a muffled yell from John. Sherlock bobbed his head up and down John’s cock, hollowing his cheeks and applying a sucking pressure throughout. Sherlock released his grip on John’s hip and allowed the other boy to rock his hips off the bed. Sherlock reached and grasped his own cock, rubbing the precum all over its length. He gave gentle tugs on his own balls and hummed around the prick that was sliding out his mouth making obscene sounds._

_One of John’s hands was fisted in the sheets, the other grasping Sherlock’s black curls tightly. Sherlock was frantically pumping his cock now, running his thumb over the tip. “—ugh – close –“ John said, out of breath, eyes shut._

_Small jets of cum came out of Sherlock’s cock and hit the cotton white sheets of the bed. John was about to come too had Sherlock not pulled off at the last minute and wiped his hand on the bed. John groaned, “You wanker. Stop teasing.”_

_Sherlock was silent and John felt the other’s weight ease of the bed. John cracked opened both of his eyes and saw Sherlock padding across the room and pulling on a dressing gown that was draped over a white chair. John would’ve jacked himself off to completion right there to get rid of the building pressure on his groin had he not seen Sherlock’s apathetic expression. John felt his erection start to abate._

_“Sherlock? Are you alright?”_

_Sherlock was silent for a moment before saying, “Yes, I’m alright.”_

_“Then why did you stop?” John would’ve been embarrassed to ask had he know that this wasn’t a dream. “You’re kind of a cock-tease, you know.”_

_Sherlock didn’t answer and made motions to head for the door._ Odd _, John thought,_ there’s never been a door in these dreams before. “ _Well,” John pressed, “Aren’t you going to finish what you started?”_

_Sherlock stared at him. Eyes blank, no twitching of the mouth, a tell-tale sign that he was joking. “I already have, if you haven’t noticed the sheets.”_

_John felt a little bit irate and little bit worried. His dreams involving Sherlock always ended fantastically with a good shag, and most-definitely not with Sherlock playing a prank on him. Especially not one involving said shag._

_“What about me?” John said pointedly, though his cock rapidly losing interest._

_In that split-second, Sherlock’s eyes turned mean. Filled with annoyance, or that emotion adults get when dealing with persistent little children who won’t shut. “I don’t care about you. I got what I want and now I’m leaving.”_

_Erection was fully gone now. Dread crept up John’s chest and settled there. Pressing down like an invisible force. John was a little out of breath as he scrambled up and quickly wrapped the sheet around his torso. He felt naked, exposed._

_“What do you mean, Sherlock?” John said, walking towards him, his voice filled with hurt. Sherlock took a step back._

_“Can’t you understand?” Sherlock asked. “I don’t care about you. I_ never _cared about you. All I wanted from you was a few quick shags when you were still interesting. But now you’re just_ dull _. Boring, like everybody else.”_

_John felt tears spring to his eyes. He couldn’t say anything. Not again. Why was it so hard for people to love him?_

_Sherlock headed for the door. He didn’t turn back around to face John. “Now I no longer have need for you. Goodbye, John.”_

_The wooden door that John saw earlier was gone. It was replaced by a set of metal sliding doors, covered with metal fittings and bolts. They slid open and when they closed, John felt his heart stop. Emblazoned on the metal door was the seal that had been haunting John’s dreams._

_Three interlocking circles. A bird. A spear._

_John heard himself scream Sherlock’s name._

John shot up in bed, a migraine pounding, causing him to shut his eyes and reach the bedside table where he usually kept his pills. His hands touched air and hit the wooden table with a thud. John opened one eye and saw that his usual bottle of pills was gone. John clutched his head and stumbled over the jacket on the study desk. He shook it and nothing fell out. John moaned and he grasped the chair for support.

 

“Where the fuck are my bloody pills?”

 

His eyes made a quick scan of the room. His pills were nowhere to be found. John’s watched beeped. 4 AM, the glaring green light told him. John gave up and shuffled back to his bed, not bothering to pull his covers up. He stifled a sob with his hand and tears started leaking from the corner of his closed eyelids.  John felt like oxygen couldn’t reach his lungs fast enough, and his heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest.

 

 _It’s stupid to cry over a dream. It wasn’t even real._ John thought to himself, the sobs shaking his whole body. _Damn hormones making teenagers over-dramatic. The world isn’t going to end because Sherlock dumped you. You should be glad that you don’t have to deal with his crazy manic mood swings and vices. You’re better off_.

 

His headache was still pounding. John could practically hear the blood rushing to his head. He let out a bitter laugh.

 

_Yeah right. Don’t even try to kid yourself, John. You’re starting to fall for Sherlock Holmes, and him not caring about you isn’t going to stop that._

John rolled flat on his back and allowed his sobs to subside. He hiccupped. The metal doors in his dream flashed at the forefront of his mind. What was up with that symbol, and more importantly, what did Sherlock have to do with it?

 

John felt himself drifting off to sleep again as a phantom pain started creeping up his left shoulder. A few minutes later, his eyes were closed and his breathing was evened out.

 


	4. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is kidnapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left! I'm about 1000 words into the last chapter and I'm seriously wondering if I can wrap it up in one chapter. I would love, love, love to make this into a series but my attention span is really short. Besides, the new term is coming up so I don't know whether I'll have the free time for it. Hmmm. Decisions, decisions. Enjoy!

The rest of the morning was a blur to John. He vaguely remembered Mike shaking him awake and saying that he was going to be late, and that he shouldn’t leave his door unlocked. John had gotten up with reluctance, as his headache was dulled to a low throb. He took a quick shower and headed straight to class.

 

By noon, the dull ache had developed into a full blown headache. John had slept entirely through lunch and didn’t have time to ask Mrs. Hudson for some medication to help with the pain. John was seriously wondering if he had a tumor or something because the headaches were getting worse and worse. His shoulder had been aching the whole day too. This was not a good day for John.

 

By the end of the day, lack of sleep and hunger was taking its toll on John and he was walking quickly towards the nurse’s office when his last period class was dismissed. John’s vision began to sway and he grabbed the nearby lockers for support.

 

 _What the heck is wrong with me? I better be fucking dying with the way these headaches are bloody persisting._ John stumbled again.

 

“John, are you okay?”

 

A wave of pain overcame his senses and he saw Jim Moriarty’s face before he hit the ground and passed out.

 

\--

 

_John opened his eyes and found himself in the middle of a big room with whitewashed walls and a red carpet._

_“John, come here.”_

_John was startled by the cool voice. He looked up and saw that he was sitting down on a metal chair. The man who called his name was sitting in front of him, on a similar metal chair. The room was cold and seeped into his skin. He tried to get up but his legs wouldn’t move. “How am I supposed to go there if I can’t move?” John heard himself rasp out._

_The man ignored him and repeated. “John. Come here.”_

_John twisted his neck to the side and saw a younger version of himself look up from his seat in front of a plastic table where he was playing with something. There was a blank look on the little John’s face. “No.”_

_John couldn’t see the expression the older man held but he must have flashed little John a scary look because the boy’s mouth trembled and he stood up from his perch. He was holding a small Rubik’s cube in his hand as he padded across the room. There was a blue band-aid on little John’s forehead and white bandages were wrapped around his wrists. Little John sensed the older man’s eyes on them and he tugged the long sleeves of his white sweater down._

_“I just want to see your toy. Then I’ll leave you alone.”_

_John was confused. What was this? A residual memory?_ I look pretty young here. Around 5 years old? _John watched his younger self hand over the Rubik’s cube. John’s eyes widened. In the middle squares was the symbol that was recurrently appearing in his dreams. Three interlocking circles with a bird and a spear. All of the sides of the cube were matched up._

_The older man took the cube and turned it over, checking if it was indeed solved. He let out a satisfied laugh. “You’re a pretty brilliant kid, you know.” He pocketed the cube and pulled out another. John blinked. The new cube that the man brought out still had the same symbol and was the same size but it was_ blinking _. The cube was rapidly changing colors every 2 seconds, if John approximated correctly._

_The man offered little John the cube. “Here’s another toy cube.” John could almost imagine the toothy grin the man was giving. “You like puzzles right?”_

_Little John shook his head, his fists tightly closed. He took a step back._

_“Take it,” the man said. His voice was ice. He stretched his hand out further. “Take it, John.”_

_“No!” Little John shouted as he turned around and made a beeline for the door. John followed his younger self and saw that there was another symbol on the door. It was simple, a red triangle inside a red circle. The door slid open before little John could reach it and in stepped inside another man. He seemed younger than the older man in the room, with white-blond hair and decked in an all black military fatigue outfit. There was a predatory glint in the man’s eyes, like he was looking at a tasty new treat._

_John saw how quickly little John’s facial expression went from fear to absolute terror. He tried to slip past the man but he was too slow. The older man nodded. The blond man roughly grabbed little John’s left shoulder and a small dull clack was heard. John’s mouth dropped open and he lifted a hand to touch his own. Little John fell to the floor, clutching his arm and crying. The blond man had completely dislocated his left shoulder._

_The older man walked over to the plastic table and set the blinking cube atop it. He forced the little boy to sit up and said. “See what happens to naughty boys?”_

_“Please stop,” Little John sobbed. “It hurts.”_

_The older man took his shoulder and with another sickening clack, he set in place._

_John could now see the older man’s face. He had a white beard and mustache, and looked around 30 years old. He stood up straight and looked at little John. “This nice man over here will be watching you until you finish. Be a good boy, John, and we won’t hurt you or your parents. Do you understand?”_

_Little John nodded, tears running down his face. The older man smiled icily at him and turned to the blond man. “Don’t give him a sling until he finishes. Got it?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_The older man slipped out of the room. Little John stumbled as he tried to stand up, still clutching his arm close to his chest. He sat on the plastic chair and with a pained expression, reached for the cube and started rapidly turning it. John mentally ticked off the seconds in his head. 30 seconds. Exactly. The cube blinked twice and let out a short beep before turning completely black, obscuring the symbol, and becoming multi-colored again, with all the sides lined up._

_The blond man smiled and put the cube into his pocket. He leered at the small boy. “Good, John. Very good.”_

 

“John. John. _John._ ”

 

John moaned and rolled away from the sound.

 

“John, you need to wake up.”

 

John lifted a hand to rub his eyes and was amazed to find out that his headache was gone. He also noticed that he was hooked to an IV in the infirmary. His shoulder however, was burning. Phantom pain. John winced as he lowered his arm. That dream or memory or whatever it was, was traumatizing enough for John to forget but for his body to remember.

 

“Are you alright?” Jim was standing by his bed, eyeing his shoulder. “You didn’t hit your shoulder when you passed out.”

 

John grimaced. _I can’t tell anyone about that. Not yet._ “Oh that. Old injury… sports. When I played football.” John didn’t even believe himself.

 

Jim smiled at him, the cheeky sort of smile you get from people you’re close too. “You can just say so if you don’t want to tell me.”

 

John grinned and shook his head. _Really, Jim was like a nicer version of Sherlock_. His eyes clouded over at the thought of the younger teen.

 

“Thinking of Sherlock Holmes, I presume?” Jim said, leaning back in his chair.

 

“You remind me of him.” John finally replied. “You’re both brilliant at reading other people’s business.”

 

Jim shrugged with a smile. “What can I say? We trained together.”

 

John knitted his eyebrows. “Trained?”

 

Jim just smiled at him. “Trained. Anyway, it’s a gift, I suppose.”

 

“Modest too,” John teased, the lack of his headache making him very amiable indeed. However, the mention of training had him curious as to whether Jim let that slip on purpose or not. He checked his watch. “Have you been waiting here all this time?”

 

“No. You’ve been out for the better part of the day. I came back to see if you were awake in time for dinner.”

 

“Oh no, he’s not going to dinner that state.” Mrs. Hudson pushed back the curtains and gave Jim a smile. “Well, hello Mr. Moriarty.”

 

“Good evening to you, Mrs. Hudson,” Jim said, standing up. “I guess I better be going then. It’s well-past visiting hours, I presume.”

 

Mrs. Hudson nodded. “You read my mind, dearie. Now off you go.”

 

“I’ll see you soon, John. We’ll talk more soon.” John gave a little wave with his right hand. He felt a bit sad that Jim left so soon after he woke up.

 

“Feeling better, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked, checking the monitor he was hooked to for vital signs.

 

“Much, thanks,” John replied, giving his sore shoulder a roll, “Headache’s gone. Though my shoulder’s a bit stiff.”

 

“Probably from lying on it for a few hours,” Mrs. Hudson said, “No need to worry.”

 

John nodded and lay back down. “So, do I get to stay here all night.”

 

“Of course you will, Mr. Watson. I still need to monitor your condition and give you medication if your headache comes back.”

 

“What is causing my headaches, anyway?” John asked the older woman, “I noticed that I started having them more and more for the past few months.”

 

Mrs. Hudson frowned. “Past few months? Well, we won’t know unless we take more tests but I’m betting it’s from stress and the fact that you missed breakfast today as well as lunch. Mr. Stamford told me. You really should take better care of yourself, dear.”

 

John hid a pleased smile. It was nice to know that some of his friends still cared.

 

“I’ll have someone bring you dinner then go straight to sleep, alright? No ifs and buts. I’m not your mother but I am the school nurse.” She set down a glass of water beside his bed.

 

“Thank you,” John flashed her a grateful smile.

 

\--

 

John had a fitful sleep that night. Memories came to his dreams again.

 

_“Your father trained you for this!”_

_A sob followed by sniffles. “I don’t know what you’re saying!”_

_John opened his eyes and saw himself sitting in the same metal chair he was on in the previous dream. The room looked the same, but it had different furniture. The plastic table was gone, replaced by a bed with a metal frame and a metal desk. John tried to stand up again but to no avail; his legs wouldn’t budge. He craned his neck around the room and saw another younger version of himself, older than in the previous, judging by the height. Probably a few months after the last memory._

_John felt his heart thump loudly._ How long was I here?

 

_Little John was sitting on a metal chair, tears streaming down his face, knees to his chest. One of the bandages on his wrists had come undone and was trailing on the floor. John could see the ugly purple and yellow bruises. Like he had been shackled to something for quite some time. In front of him was the blond man holding another Rubik’s cube in his hand. It was bigger, 6 by 6, still blinking and with the same symbol as the previous ones._

_John saw the man visibly sigh. He clutched the cube tighter and said in a sickly-sweet voice. “Look, kid. I don’t want to hurt you again, but if you don’t finish playing with this new toy, both of us will be hurting, you got that? The boss will hurt me and I’ll hurt you.”_

_Little John’s sobs only got louder. “I don’t how to do ones that big. They’re too hard.”_

_“John, John, John,” the man approached his younger, crying self, “Remember how you could do the small ones in less than a minute? You can do the same thing you do with this one but it’ll just take you longer.”_

_The blond man pulled out a handkerchief and started to wipe little John’s face. “There, there,” He stuffed the cloth in his pocket and handed John the bigger cube._

How in the bloody hell is he – well, me – going to solve that? _John’s heart was thumping louder now. He felt like something bad was going to happen._

_Little John took the cube and with a hiccup, started rapidly turning the sides. John watched as seconds ticked by and he would almost get all of it, only two layers left, but the cube would blink and the colors would switch around. The tears were streaming harder down little John’s face now. “I can’t do it!”_

_The man looked nervous now. He took little John’s shoulders and shook him. “You have to finish it!”_

_Little John’s hands were rapidly moving, trying to get the sides to match up but to no avail. The cube was too fast for the child. “Please! I can’t!”_

_The blond man looked at his watch. John was ticking off the time in his head too._

57… 58… 59… 60. _John wrinkled his eyebrows._ Why did I stop at 60? What’s going to happen after a minute?

 

_The man stood up and backed away from little John. The cube in his hands stopped blinking and turned white. It let out a long beep. Little John was startled and he dropped it to the floor. John felt the floor rattle as a white-hot explosion filled the room. John had closed his eyes. The cube didn’t even reach the ground before it exploded._

John shot up in bed, sweat covering his entire body. He felt sick. What was that? Why would he remember that? John reached for the glass of water that Mrs. Hudson had left on his side table. His fingers touched something hard and made of plastic. John looked to his right and saw a Rubik’s cube.

 

“What the hell?”

 

The cube was similar to the one from his memory but there was something a little different from it. John reached for the lamp and turned it on. “The symbol’s different,” John muttered, staring at the blinking sides. Instead of the interlocking spheres, this one had the symbol from the door in his dream. A red triangle inside a red circle. “Did Jim leave this here?”

 

Before John knew it, his fingers were moving on their own accord, rapidly switching the sides of the cube. _Hey, this is easy! I’m just as fast as Sherlock!_ John knitted his eyebrows together as he remembered Sherlock’s Rubik’s cube when they first met. “Sherlock’s cube had this symbol too…”

 

When John finished in under 30 seconds, the cube turned black and let out a beep just like the one from his memory. John dropped it in surprise. A light emerged from the top and a hologram of a square floated above the cube. It let out another beep and a man’s face appeared on the screen.

 

“You!” It was the old man from his first memory. His hair was all white now and he had more wrinkles around his eyes but it was him.

 

“Hello John,” the man said, “I don’t think you remember me so let me introduce myself. I’m Professor James Moriarty, Jim’s father.”

 

John’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “What?”

 

Professor Moriarty smiled. “He left this message for you by your bed after that meddling school nurse left. He’s such a good boy.”

 

John was so confused. “I don’t understand –”

 

The hologram was still smiling. “Of course you don’t. But there will be time for explanations. All I ask is that you go with the nice men that will be picking you up. I’ll see you soon.”

 

John saw the wall by his bed explode. He shut his eyes and shielded himself from the pieces of concrete. The cube had fallen to the floor and the hologram was gone. John stared nervously at the wall, or rather, lack of. “What the _fuck_ was that?”

 

Around ten men dressed in all black entered the room from the hole in the wall. John scrambled as quickly as he could from the bed but he was too slow and his migraine was coming back. John pitched forward. One of the men grabbed him and gave a hard press at the base of his skull. John grunted and fell unconscious.

 

 --

 

“Good evening Mr. John Watson.”

 

John groaned as he shifted around. His head had been lolling forward onto his chest and he lifted it with difficulty. He felt like he had been hit with a two-by-four. He blinked to clear his blurry vision and found himself sitting on a plush red armchair by a roaring fire. _Where am I?_

“Shoulder still sore?”

 

John felt his shoulder twinge at the comment.

 

Professor Moriarty put the glass of – brandy, was it? – on the mantelpiece and settled down into the armchair in front of John’s. “I suppose it still does. Considering Jack was little… enthusiastic with your persuasion. I apologize on his behalf.” He didn’t look sorry at all.

 

John was filled with anger. He didn’t know _what_ they did to him or _why_ he was even a part of this but hurting an innocent child, well, as innocent as he used to be was unforgivable. Letting his emotions get the better of him, John shot to his feet and was hit immediately with a wave of weakness and nausea. John fell back on to the chair and held his head. Even his thoughts felt sluggish. “What did you give me?” John knew when he was drugged.

 

Professor Moriarty’s mouth stretched into a smile. “Smart boy. Just a mild sedative. It’ll wear off in a few hours.”

 

John tried to keep his back straight as he stared at the older man. At least the room had stopped swaying. “What exactly am I doing here?”

 

The professor looked thoughtful. “You don’t really don’t remember anything, do you?”

 

“I don’t know what I remember.” John said honestly. “Whether it’s real… or just some sort of fucked up nightmare.”

 

“Then let me help,” Professor Moriarty leaned back in his chair and looked straight at John’s eyes. “John, what do you know about your father’s work?”

 

John shrugged. “Just that he worked in the army and we moved around a lot because of it.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Professor Moriarty replied, impatient, “But what did he do exactly?”

 

John was at a loss for words. “I don’t know.”

 

Another smile crept on the professor’s face. “Well, I didn’t suppose that you would, but I thought you might have badgered him for some sort of information. Children are like that.”

 

 A pause. _Weapons._ John’s eyebrows knitted at the sudden thought. “Weapons?” _Why did I suddenly think that?_

 

The professor’s smile got even wider. “Very good, John. Very good. Indeed, your father worked with weapons. What kind of weapons exactly?”

 

“I told you, I don’t know anything.” John was getting even more confused by the minute.

 

“Think, boy, think! Don’t be dull.” Professor Moriarty was enjoying this.

 

John concentrated and thought of his father’s face, seeing if that would bring up anything. John thought of his father’s uniform, tucked away at the bottom of his closet, beneath all the photo albums he managed to get before their house was sold. Another thought – or memory – flashed in John’s mind.

 

“Weapons tech.” John remembered his father talking about it with his mother a few times when they thought he was asleep. His father would always be talking in a hushed voice, his face etched with worry.

 

Professor Moriarty clapped. “Spot on. Specifically Advanced Weapons Technology. Which encompasses everything from chemical to nuclear warfare.”

 

“What does that have to do with me?”

 

“I think you know. Whatever brainwashing Mycroft did to you obviously wasn’t enough to suppress all your memories.”

 

 _Mycroft?_ Professor Moriarty laughed, seeing John’s confusion flit over his face. “Don’t you remember Mycroft, John?”

 

John shook his head. The name sounded so familiar.

 

“Oh this is wonderful. Easier to turn you against him and the little brother you and my son are so infatuated with.” Professor Moriarty spat out the word infatuated with obvious distaste.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” John didn’t like where this was going. Why was Sherlock and Jim involved in all this? Why were any of them involved in all of this?

 

“Mycroft is Sherlock’s older _brother_. He is the division head for Advanced Weapons Technology for the Secret Service which your father was previous affiliated with. Of course, you call him by another name as well.”

 

“What?” John whispered. He knew the answer already. From the moment he spent his first day at St. Bart’s Prep.

 

A positively maniacal grin was plastered on Professor Moriarty’s face.

 

“Headmaster.”


	5. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because everyone has been keep things from John, including himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. I have been dead for more than a year. I apologize profusely! Admittedly I had 3/4 of this chapter done before I posted the fourth but yeaaaaah. Tweaked things here and there and everything went to hell (read: senior year @ university, yay!). So to placate you all, FINALLY, the next chapter (and the end in the next).

“ _Mycroft, you bastard_.”

 

Sherlock stormed into Mycroft’s office, where said man was sitting, hands in his head. Sherlock was furious. How could the head of practically the entire Secret Service and the British government let the Queen’s number one enemy on St. Bart’s grounds? How could he let them take _John_ without so much as sending a team after them? His brother was an _idiot._

 

As Sherlock reached Mycroft’s desk, he let his angry thoughts be known. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

 

“This was something I did not foresee.” Mycroft said finally, raising tired eyes at his baby brother. “But that does not mean I’m not doing anything about it. I’m not an idiot as you like so much to believe.”

 

Sherlock threw the solved Rubik’s cube from the nurse’s office at Mycroft who caught it with deft fingers. “I told you not to trust Moriarty Junior. He likes this – game – between us too much to care about collateral damage.”

 

“…Jim is going to be one of our best double agents.” Mycroft said with finality.

 

Sherlock grew irate. “You can’t trust him. He’s Moriarty’s _son_. Have you forgotten that? You should not have let him into St. Bart’s in the first place.”

 

Mycroft glared at Sherlock. “You of all people should know that having a particular set of parents doesn’t ensure which side you’ll grow up choosing.”

 

Sherlock was tight-lipped. It still wouldn’t do to trust Jim Moriarty. He was too volatile, too rash, to be an asset. And he was entirely too smart to allow Mycroft to keep reigning him in.

 

“Besides, Jim likes us. If anything, you always keep him on his toes and that’s why he stays.”

 

A woman knocked and walked inside the room. She had long wavy hair and had a bored expression on her face. Mycroft handed her the cube. “Bring that back to the headquarters. Greg will want to look at that.”

 

“Anything else, sir?”

 

“Prepare the jet. I’m leaving in an hour.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the mention of the agent. His brother was so predictable. “I highly doubt that I’ll be keeping his interest for long. You can’t be seriously betting the security of the British government on Moriarty Junior’s obsession with me.”

 

“You’re too modest, Sherlock.” Mycroft replied, sitting back down. “Though recent surveillance reports have shown that you’re not the only one who’s holding his interest.”

 

Sherlock was fully aware of the leers that Jim had been giving John. “Yet he still gave John over to his father without batting an eyelash.”

 

“Don’t be daft, dear brother. You’re still his number one. I’m willing to bet that this _move_ of young Jim’s is merely to keep you on _your_ toes and piss off his dear father.”

 

“Teenage hormones and a daddy grudge.” Sherlock snapped. “You compromised St. Bart’s just so Jim could have his little game with me?”

 

Mycroft’s eyes got cold. Sherlock knew when to keep his mouth shut. “ _Sherlock Holmes_. This issue goes beyond you and James Moriarty Junior. This event was waiting to happen; whether or not Jim did anything to speed it up. This is no mere schoolboy grudge.”

 

“Why did he take John then?”

 

Mycroft smiled grimly. “Now _that_ is my fault.”

 

Sherlock sighed. “I think we established that it is on you that John was kidnapped. But _why_?”

 

Mycroft’s gaze drifted to one of the photo frames on his desk. “Has John told you anything about his father?”

 

“We haven’t really gotten around to that part of our relationship yet.” Sherlock drawled.

 

Mycroft made a face at the mention of his baby brother’s recent… activities. “John’s father was a member of the division, before The Rift. He _trained_ John, not that John was completely aware of it.”

 

“John was trained?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

 

Mycroft nodded. “For a while, yes. But recent upsets in the division caused his father to pull him out. His wife would not allow their son to be a part of the project. We were about to put them under protection but James moved quickly. He knew that they were the weak spot so he targeted their family. John was taken.”

 

Sherlock could not stand to think about what Moriarty did to John as well as his family. “How long?”

 

“Two years. We barely got him back in one piece.”

 

Sherlock knew he was missing something. “Why doesn’t he remember?”

 

Mycroft refused to look at Sherlock’s eyes.

 

“Now that was something even I couldn’t control.”

 

* * *

 

 

John’s hands were clutched tight on the arms of the chair. “You’re lying.”

 

“You’ll find, young Watson, that I am not. Your father was one of the most powerful men in MI6. He wasn’t a mere lackey of the Queen. That cube that you solved was his brainchild. It’s what brought him to the division… which ironically enough, brought upon his death.”

 

“He never told me anything.”

 

Professor Moriarty sneered and downed the rest of the brandy. “He was loyal to a fault. He would never tell you anything because it would compromise your safety… so everything you know is by default. Little tells that you got from him.” He picked up another cube, blinking but without a symbol. He tossed it to John. “Solve it.”

 

Upon instinct, John quickly went to work. 20 seconds.

 

Professor Moriarty was staring at him. “You’re getting faster.”

 

“I don’t even know how I did that.” John muttered, running his fingers of the smooth surface of the cube.

 

“Your training,” Professor Moriarty repeated, “stemmed from your father’s intention to prepare you for a future with MI6. Ever since you were a child, before you were taken in by the training division, he would give you little problems to solve, too advanced for normal children. Didn’t you ever wonder why you were so adept at both academics and extracurricular activities?”

 

John never asked; he figured he was just like every other teenage boy who felt a need to beat everybody.

 

“Legacy, John. Simple legacy. Your father was loyal but he was also an arrogant bastard. He wouldn’t let somebody he didn’t completely trust with all of his secrets take over the AWT division. He wanted you to take control when the time was right. But your mother would not agree. So they pulled you out of training.”

 

The situation was slowly getting clearer and clearer to John. Why he was good at puzzles ever since he was kid, why he beat every other kid’s ass at sports or tests. Why it was his father kept on pushing him to take classes for every martial art known to man. Why they would never – John bit his lip.

 

“Is that why they wouldn’t touch me anymore?”

 

“Guilt,” Professor Moriarty said, swirling the amber liquid in its glass. “Your father was incredibly, incredibly guilty after we – _took you in_. MI6 looked for you for two years and when they finally found you, your father was very angry. The bruises and injuries maybe what triggered his little outburst.”

 

John couldn’t help but think at how sick Moriarty was. At how he was willing to hurt an innocent child to solve a bunch of puzzles.

 

“Your father blew the whole Organization headquarters up, you know.” Professor Moriarty said conversationally, “It took a whole dent out of my savings to repair it.”

 

John asked the question he was dreading to ask. “Did you kill him?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Bastard.” John had felt the drug’s effects slowly wearing off and he shot up and tackled Professor Moriarty. He would have punched the man’s face in but somebody pulled him off and threw him across the room, and onto a table.

 

“Hands off, kid.”

 

John’s blood ran cold. That voice. John lifted his head.

 

“Jack.”

 

His white blonde hair glinted in the light of the fire.

 

“Nice to see you again, John.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You will let me join the squad, Mycroft.”

 

Mycroft stared at Sherlock. His little brother’s eyes were dead serious, his breathing calm and even.

 

“Alright,” Mycroft said finally.

 

“I’ll gear up. Be back in an hour.”

 

Mycroft waved him off. _Mummy is going to murder me._

Sherlock halted before the door and turned around. As if reading his mind, Sherlock said, “Don’t tell Mummy.”

 

* * *

 

 

John grunted, the bright light above his head shining into his eyes. After their little reunion, Jack had stuck a needle into his arm and gave him another dose of whatever sedative they had given him earlier. Not that John didn’t put up a fight but Jack was inhumanely strong for a guy his age.

 

John blinked and sat up, his thoughts running by sluggishly. “God. What the bloody fuck have they been giving me?”

 

“Oh just a cocktail of anti-psychotic meds and allergy medication. Nothing we haven’t given you before.”

 

John lifted his arms with difficulty and wondered why he wasn’t restrained. “No shackles this time, Jack?”

 

Jack smiled toothily. “No.”

 

“Seems a bit lax for you.” John commented, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths, willing the fog in his head to clear. “I can easily knock you out and escape.”

 

Jack barked a laugh. “You can try, little dove. Years of training in kid competitions can’t level with years of experience.”

 

_Don’t underestimate me._ John felt a rush of adrenaline and threw a punch aimed at Jack’s abdomen. Jack grabbed his fist and twisted his arm behind his back. John grunted and threw out his right leg and knocked Jack on his back. John pressed his arm against Jack’s neck. “You were saying?”

 

Jack gave John a hard shove and sent John sprawling; John felt his back smash against the edge of the metal table. He quickly stood up and blocked Jack’s kick. He grabbed Jack’s leg and forced him on his back again. John’s eyes quickly scanned the room for anything he could use to knock Jack out because he knew he was no match for the man’s immense strength.

 

“Uh-uh, little dove.” Jack slammed his head against John’s and swept his feet out from under him and formed a choke-hold on his neck. His fingers were slowly crushing John’s windpipe.

 

John blinked, tears clouding his vision. “Let me go.”

 

“Only if you promise to behave.”

 

John suddenly went slack. _Only if you promise to behave._ Memories of Jack hitting him as a child and giving him countless broken bones and bruises went by John’s mind. John’s eyes were dead pools of blue and his fists were unclenched.

 

_“Please make it stop_.” John murmured, his left shoulder twitching.

 

Jack knitted his eyebrows together. “Hey Watson, are you –”

 

John stared at Jack with emotionless eyes and with an amazing feat of strength, he pushed Jack off him and onto the floor. He was filled with anger. Jack quickly flipped them over, slamming John’s right leg into the metal leg of the upturned table. John’s expression didn’t change as he kneed Jack in the groin and flipped them back over. He grabbed Jack’s head and bashed his head into the concrete twice, causing the older man to pass out.

 

 “You don’t get to touch me anymore.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Your operatives are slow and imbecilic, Mycroft.”

 

“Shut it, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock pouted and turned his attention towards the screen. They – well, he – had hacked into the security system in 30 minutes time and were currently viewing the live feeds from the security cameras. Sherlock, Mycroft and three other agents were in a nondescript black van parked three blocks from the abandoned warehouse where John was being held captive.

 

Mycroft put on a headset and spoke into the microphone. “Gate 2, 5, and 7 will be unlocked in 30 seconds. Stand by.”

 

Three groups of six men were clustered around the said gates, rifles raised against their chests. Sherlock was tapping frantically away at his laptop. “ETA in 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1. Security Level 3 has been disengaged.”

 

“Move in.” Mycroft ordered.

 

His men were stealthy. No need to make an entrance and give Moriarty time to regroup and escape. They had to be very careful. John’s life was hanging in the balance. As Mycroft looked at his younger brother concentrated intently at hacking through the last three levels of security, he wondered if he had made the right choice by bringing Sherlock into this world. He was much too young but his _brilliance_ was incomparable. It would be a great loss to the country had Sherlock been left to rot away in some flat and his mind unused.

 

Mycroft pulled up the feed of the room where John was being held and watched the silent exchange between Jack, one of Moriarty’s top assassins. John appeared to be drugged and his eyes constantly wavered between Jack and the door. He saw John get up and switched feeds. “Target appears unharmed.”

 

Sherlock made a show of not looking. “ _Appears_ unharmed. Tsk, tsk, Mycroft.”

 

Mycroft allowed himself a sigh and looked back at the monitors. His men had wiped out most of the outdoor security patrol. Good. It was only a matter of time before Sherlock completely breached security and warnings would start popping up in Moriarty’s system.

 

“Security Level 6 has been disengaged.”

 

Mycroft nodded and repeated the same thing to the microphone. “Security Level 6 is down. The target is on the 5th underground level. There’s a single room on the east wing. Two guards outside.” Mycroft pulled up John’s feed again and was surprised to see the table overturned and the door open. Jack was unconscious on the floor, a small pool of blood forming around his head. The hallways around the room were empty except for two non-moving bodies of security guards.

 

“John.”

 

Sherlock quickly stood up and pulled on a Kevlar vest and a black jacket.

 

Mycroft handed him two Berets with silencers and another headset. “I know I can’t stop you, so be careful.”

 

Sherlock took the two guns from his older brother and stuck them in their holsters. He had extra-ammunition in his jacket. He put the headset on and headed for the door. “Being careful is for the unprepared.”

 

And Sherlock was gone. Mycroft spoke into his headset. “Carsons and Peter, trail after Sherlock. Make sure he doesn’t compromise this mission and or get himself captured.”

 

Mycroft’s hand gripped the arm of the chair tightly.

 

“Kill anyone who gets in his way.”

 

* * *

 

 

John hobbled out of the room and into the lit hall. His right leg was killing him. John squinted against the bright light.

 

“Hey you! Get down on the floor now!”

 

John’s eyes snapped open and he saw two men rushing towards him, what looked like tranquilizer guns in their hands. He couldn’t get captured again. John felt his heart pumping faster and his breaths getting shorter and quicker. Then everything was fast. His vision was focused on knocking out the two men that were in his way and everything else was a gray blur. John pushed the gun away from the first guard and brought it up to hit the man’s nose. There was a crunch and a spray of blood. He spun around and shot the gun into the other guard, hitting him square in the chest. The man’s eyes rolled up and he passed out immediately. John’s eyes were narrowed and deadly as he ripped the gun from the remaining guard’s hands and shot him in the chest as well. The man went down with a yell.

 

Silence.

 

“Oh my God.” John gasped as he dropped the tranquilizer gun. He stared at his hands and noticed that they weren’t even shaking. _What exactly am I capable of?_

John pulled a handgun from one of the fallen men’s holsters and two magazines. He quickly stuffed the magazines in his pocket. John gripped the gun tight and shook his head at the familiar feeling. The gun felt right in his hand; it had been a while since he shot at something. John always found it odd that his dad was so adamant about his ‘only boy learning how to handle a gun’. Self-defense, my ass.

He bit his lip and headed down the next hallway. Hopefully there would no more people in his way.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock walked calmly into the main lobby. His eyes made a quick scan of the room, hands on the Beret and finger on the trigger. The lobby was empty. He raised his gun as he saw a flit of movement by the third elevator. Sherlock rolled his eyes and let his gun fall to his side. Only one person would wear a bloody suit in the middle of an anti-terrorist attack.

 

“Hello Jim.”

 

Jim Moriarty stepped out from behind a corner with a pout on his face.

 

“You’re no fun _at all_ , Sherlock.”

 

“I want John back.”

 

Jim’s grin turned sour. “Well, so do I.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes widened in recognition before he let out a loose laugh. His finger was off the trigger now. “Oh this is brilliant.”

 

Jim was annoyed. How dare Sherlock laugh at him. It wasn’t him who let his boyfriend get kidnapped by the possibly the world’s most dangerous villain. “What are you laughing at?”

 

Sherlock snorted. “It isn’t everyday that a genius gets double-crossed by someone with half his IQ. Well, who was it, Jim?”

 

Jim didn’t see the need to lie. “Sebastian.”

 

“Oh.” Sherlock’s smile disappeared. “I apologize.” Emotions were a fickle thing. Especially when it came to the people we loved. “Truly.”

 

Jim looked forlorn; his eyes blank. “He handed over my laptop to my father. Every piece of data I took from him in the last four years was in there.” He paused. “I never thought that Seb would turn on me. For what? Temporary powerfrom a madman about to fall?” He said the word madman with distaste. “A miscalculation on my part.”

 

Sherlock tutted. “I assume you had a back-up that Moran didn’t know about.”

 

“Of course I did.” Jim didn’t look happy. “I hoped that I never had to use it.”

 

Sherlock felt pity for Jim. “Loyalty is very hard to come by.”

 

“I am aware.”

 

“Will you help me get John back?”

 

Jim nodded, a new fire in his eyes. “If only to bring my father to his knees.”

 

Sherlock was about to ask Jim a question when Mycroft’s voice burst through his headset. Sherlock’s eyes were filled with fear.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where the bloody fuck am I?” John muttered, turning around in a circle. “This place is a fucking _maze._ ”

 

He had been walking down a handful of empty hallways for half an hour and had not seen any other doors. He was sure that he was going around in circles but he didn’t double back to his room or the two men he left outside yet. John made a right and was surprised to see the hall end into an easy twenty-foot by twenty-foot space, the concrete floor now covered with black tiles.

 

John almost cheered when he saw an elevator at the end. “Finally.”

 

John took a step forward.

 

* * *

 

 

Mycroft’s eyes widened. He was watching multiple feeds on John’s floor on his monitor. He saw John enter the floor’s receiving area where the elevator was. Mycroft knitted his eyebrows together as he saw the tiled floor.

 

_Are those...?_

“Bloody hell. Sherlock! Get to John _now_!”

 

* * *

 

 

John was suddenly hit by a sudden wave of nausea. His head had started throbbing.

 

“Not now!” He groaned, pulling his foot back and rubbing his head.

 

_Pressure bomb._

John scampered away from the black tiles. He pulled out a wad of paper from his pocket and let it flutter to the ground. It flit from side to side and landed on a tile in the middle of the black expanse of tile.

 

Three beeps. And the tile exploded. The paper was incinerated.

 

When the smoke cleared, the tiles were all complete and glistening brightly as if newly polished.

 

“Of course. Pressure sensitive booby trap.”

 

John’s eyes darted quickly along the line where the concrete floor met the black tile. He pulled his penknife from his pocket and ran it along the groove. Half way across the room there was a hiss and a click and one of the tiles came loose. John lifted the tile and found a small screen and a keyboard underneath. The screen was running with series upon series of numbers. John’s eyes glazed over as he set his fingers on the keyboard.

 

It was like seeing a hacker take down walls and walls of security without breaking a sweat. With a final tap on the enter button, a concerto of loud hisses was heard. John blinked, stood up and took a step forward.

 

“JOHN! STOP!”

 

As John’s foot hit the floor, he was tackled to the ground beneath a worried looking Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock closed his eyes tightly.

 

“Um, Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock’s eyes were still closed.

 

“You can get off me now.”

 

“Yes, Sherlock, do get off the poor boy.” There was a lilt in Jim’s voice.

 

Sherlock’s face went stoic as he got up. John quickly scrambled to his feet. “Um. Hello.”

 

“Hello John,” Jim said with a smile. He looked over at the black tiles. “Brilliant work here, I must say.”

 

John rubbed his nape. “Thanks, I guess. Though I’m not entirely sure how I did that just yet.”

 

“It’ll come to you. Eventually.” There was something in Jim’s voice that told John that he knew more than he was letting on. John chose not to ask. Maybe later.

 

Sherlock remained silent. “Let’s go.” He headed for the elevator and pressed the up button.

 

“How did you guys get here anyway?” John asked Jim. “I thought this was the only exit.”

 

Jim grinned and followed Sherlock across the disengaged indoor landmines. “Oh it is. Well, except for the part where we blew a small hole in the ceiling. It’s much too high to get back up though.”

 

John sighed. Really, the people in his school were unbelievable. He spied a look at Sherlock and felt another clench deep in his chest. He looked away. No. It wouldn’t do to punch Sherlock right now. Not when there were more important things to worry about. John took a look back at the black expanse of tile and wondered when his life got so fucked up.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock’s hand itched to reach for John’s as they rode the elevator up to the ground floor. Though he would never admit it out loud, he had been an idiot for reacting the way he did after what John said to his friends. He hated it when he was wrong. Especially when he let his heart rule his head.

 

Sherlock looked away watched as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

 

_Just in time_. The three teenagers stepped out into the lobby.

 

Mycroft was standing in front of the elevators with a grim look on his face. The entire area was filled with MI6 operatives, tearing holes into walls and connecting laptops and gadgets into the building’s wiring. Jim’s eyes rolled and he let out a deep sigh. “Did you _at least_ get Moran?” Mycroft was silent.

 

Sherlock snorted and with a brief surge of confidence grabbed John’s wrist and pulled him out towards the door. “Mycroft is an idiot, Jim. I don’t understand why he’s the head of the bloody division.”


	6. An end to all things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things begin and end with a new day.

After a long and intensive debriefing by the Headmaster himself, John was all but ready to pass out in his bed for the next 48 hours. He was limping towards the infirmary to grab an ice pack for his leg and shoulder when he felt someone trailing behind him.

 

John stopped and turned around. “What do you want, Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock was standing in the middle of the hall, wearing a black overcoat with his hands in its pockets. “As overused as this line sounds, we have to talk.”

 

“About what?” John asked, shifting his weight to his left leg. “About you being a complete and utter prat these past few weeks?” His voice quieted. “That it had to take a criminal mastermind kidnapping me to get you to your senses?”

 

“John –” Sherlock started, taking a step forward.

 

“No.” John muttered. “I’m through with you, Sherlock. You were right. You have no friends, and now, not even a partner.”

 

John headed for the infirmary once again when he heard his curly-haired ex-paramour say, “I’m sorry, John. Truly.”

 

John paused, then kept walking.

 

* * *

 

 

The blond collapsed into his bed later that afternoon, excused from his classes. John didn’t even toe off his shoes as he ran this morning’s debriefing through his mind.

 

_“I apologize deeply, Mr. Watson.” Mycroft had said quietly, his voice echoing inside the large hall meant for school council meetings. “For all that you had to go through the past few days.”_

_John and Sherlock were a seat apart, with the headmaster walking to and fro a large stone fireplace. Jim was strangely absent._

_“If you’re looking for Mr. Moriarty, he had some personal business to attend to.”_

_“Loose ends by the name of Sebastian Moran that you failed to tie up, I presume.” Sherlock drawled, his eyes boring into Mycroft’s._

_“What he does in his personal time is none of my business.”_

_Sherlock feigned shock. “What a travesty, your statement is,_ headmaster _. I thought headmasters were all nosy busybodies whose greatest pleasure in life was stalking students.”_

_“I do not appreciate your tone, Sherlock. This is still my office and I am still your headmaster.”_

_“Technically it’s the school board’s meeting room,_ Mycroft. _And you still can’t boss me around… lest I get into a fit. You know how that always upsets Mummy.”_

_Mycroft ignored the comment and turned back to John who was watching the exchange with both amusement and curiosity in his eyes. A light blush was gracing Mycroft’s cheeks. “Anyway, we’ve strayed from the main topic. Mr. Watson, I assume you have questions.”_

_John nodded slowly and turned his head slightly towards Sherlock. “Does he have to be here?”_

_“Well, this_ is _an official debriefing but if you don’t wish for his presence I can very well throw him out.” There was a glint in Mycroft’s eye that said that he would stay true to his word if John consented._

_A moment. “No, no. No problem at all. He’ll find everything out sooner or later anyway. He’s a bit of a prick like that.”_

_“No truer words have been spoken.” Mycroft took a seat in front of the two teenagers, his face shadowed from his position in front of the fire, highlighting tiny wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, and marking his age. “Well, fire away.”_

_“Start from the beginning,” John stated. “Who exactly was my father?”_

_“Your father was one of our lead scientists and designers in the Advanced Weapons Technology division of MI6. He created a modified version of the Rubik’s cube, simply known to us as the Cube. The Cube was used to transport and transfer encrypted information among agents and divisions. Think of it as a highly evolved flash drive. The technology used to make the Cube was only known to me, your father, two other scientists, and Anthea. Because it was classified information, it was only natural that jealousy and contempt was bred throughout the division, especially after your father was promoted division head._

_The Rift, as it was officially called, lead to the creation of the Organization, headed by Jim’s father. James was your father’s rival. He was angry and obsessed with the Cube, and how your father managed to create it when he was only three years in in the AWT. It was bitter feud, and James separated himself, along with fifteen other scientists, and allied themselves with numerous Russian warlords, building his empire from the top down.”_

_“And where do I fit into all of this?”_

_Mycroft’s eyes grew dark. “James hired a top hacker known as Blue Jay to infiltrate the system and he managed to steal the blueprint to the cube. They were able to replicate the Cube and train his operatives to crack it. Your father refused to be beaten. He further upgraded the Cube and the security algorithm it used. Extensive training and knowledge of the algorithm was needed to open it._

_Sherlock was already fifteen by this time, and though this will blow up his ego further,” Mycroft rolled his eyes as he said this, “he was able to block Blue Jay from the division’s motherboard.”_

_“I completely annihilated him.” Sherlock muttered._

_“So James started picking off our operatives, one by one. He couldn’t crack any of them. So he targeted the weakest link. You.”_

_John bristled at the comment._

_“It was perfect. A child trained by the creator himself, who could crack the new algorithm in less than a minute. You were taken. For two years we searched for you, until your father himself found you and made a tiny nuclear bomb explode in the Organization’s headquarters. He was killed the explosion._ ”

 

_Everything was starting to clear._

_“And the memory loss? The headaches?”_

_Sherlock was staring at Mycroft. “Do tell, Mycroft.”_

_“Extensive hypnotherapy, neurodegenerative drugs, and a concussion sustained in the explosion.”_

_“Hold on. Did you just say_ neurodegenerative drugs _?” The disbelief was clearly heard in his voice._

_“I was against it, after the…torture you underwent in the hands of the Organization. But I was overruled.”_

_“You administered toxic drugs to a_ seven-year-old _child? Were you people insane?”_

_Mycroft had the sense to look guilty. “When your headaches started, we’ve been slipping you drugs that would reverse the neurodegenerating process. That’s why your memories started returning, as well as some of your skills._ ”

 

 _“Oh dear God, I can’t believe this. You people_ are _mental.” John stood up and grabbed his jacket. “I think I’ve learned all I’ve wanted to know for today. I’m going to bed.”_

_Sherlock or Mycroft didn’t stop him._

* * *

 

It was a new day. The wall in the infirmary had been patched up and winter break was coming up. John had not spoken to Sherlock in two weeks, and as much as Sherlock apologized for the things that he did, John didn’t want to hear any of it. It still stung, more than his break up with Sherlock, that his parents kept so many things from him… about who he was and who _they_ were.

 

A hand clamped down on his shoulder as he walked to the next class. John’s eyes widened and he quickly ducked, grabbed the arm, and twisted it into a lock.

 

“Please let me go, John.”

 

Of course. Sherlock. John released his grip and shoved Sherlock’s arm away.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I don’t think I can apologize enough—”

 

“You can’t. So stop bothering to.” John snapped, turning around.

 

Sherlock grabbed his wrist again, and with a fire that John had never seen before in his eyes. “When are you ever going to stop feeling sorry for yourself and start forgiving the people around you?”

 

“Oh, you mean like you and your brother?”

 

“Yes, like me!” Sherlock growled. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m the only one you’ve got now! I don’t intend on letting you go because you’re the only one I have too.”

 

John eyes flashed with anger. “Like it’s so _easy_ for you to _trust_ people, Sherlock! All I ever wanted was to be your friend, maybe something more, but that wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

 

“I was an idiot, I know. Why do you think I’ve been trying so hard to make up for it?” Sherlock took a step forward. “John. How can you expect me to try and make up for the things I’ve done when you won’t even talk to me?”

 

John was silent for a while. “I don’t know what you want from me, Sherlock. I’ve spent too many years running away from who I was already. I don’t want anymore of this _fucking_ drama.”

 

“I want to start over, John… if we can’t pick up right where we left off. I want you back in my life, if the past few weeks haven’t made it clear yet. We’re better together, that much I can say. I can offer you companionship, friendship, if you want it. But if you want me out of your life, you’re going to have to try a hell of a lot harder. I _am_ Sherlock Holmes, after all.”

 

John couldn’t help but smile at the last bit. Who was he kidding? He missed him. No matter how much of a smart-idiot Sherlock is, John missed him. If Sherlock was willing to start over, then who was he to deny that since he was kidding himself if he said he didn’t want the same thing?

 

Sherlock’s eyes were clouded over and John couldn’t tell what he was feeling or thinking, as he waited for John’s answer. John let out a breath he had been holding for probably the past 14 years or so, and shifted the strap of his satchel on his shoulder.

 

“I’m new here. Walk me to AP Physics?”

 

A grin broke out on Sherlock’s face as he jogged to keep up with John. “You’re parents went here and you don’t even know your way around the place?”

 

John rolled his eyes and gave Sherlock a little glare. Some things never change.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIS THE END. YAY.
> 
> My tumblr: reynabitchesa.tumblr.com (shameless haha)


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